


Half Time

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [8]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank always had a knack of picking the best presents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is set some time after 10 Years Later, but before Three's Company.

For someone who claimed he was ‘crap at that romance shit’, Frankie had a knack of surprising Stephen in ways no one ever expected. Stephen didn’t know why it still surprised him, given how their first kiss happened, but it still did. 

The latest surprise were two tickets to the Millwall game as a Valentine’s present.

“Who’s the other one for?” Stephen had asked.

Frank gave him an offended look. “Me, innit? You want a fucking Valentine’s date, you’re getting one.”

Of course, the fact he said it while holding a bottle of Stephen’s favourite fancy wine and a huge bouquet of flowers suggested he was enjoying fussing over Stephen a lot more than he was pretending to.

So they went out on Valentine’s night, as Stephen’s gift, to Frank’s favourite not-very-posh bistro, then went home to their shared flat and had the best drunk sex Stephen could remember having in quite some time. He found his shoe wedged on top of the living room light the next morning.

Three days later, they were at the football.

As far as Stephen knew, it was the first time that Frank had gone anywhere near the home side of the Millwall ground. For a life-long West Ham fan, it must have felt like thirty pieces of silver changing hands. Stephen had to admit he wouldn’t have been surprised if Frankie had worn a balaclava when he bought the tickets.

Frankie was looking around warily, as if he expected some West Ham fan to jump out on him and yell traitor. He was wearing his coat zipped up to his throat, even though it wasn’t all that cold, and had his shoulders hunched against the swarms of Millwall fans.

“We don’t bite, babes,” Stephen said, grinning, as they headed up to the stands.

Frankie snorted. “Well, I know that’s a load of fucking bollocks,” he said. “I’ve still got the mark, you pillock.”

Stephen felt his cheeks warm , and grinned over his shoulder. “Okay, some of us do,” he said, leading Frank out into the terraces. He’d seen Frankie on his own turf often enough, but this was his playground and he knew it well. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few little Millwall fans.”

Frank looked affronted. “Ain’t them I’m worried about,” he said. 

“Ah,” Stephen laughed. “The secret Ninjas of the West Ham fan base.” He nodded and tried to keep a straight face. “I’ve heard they have formidable powers of finding-people-in-other-grounds and kicking their arses.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but his tense expression eased a bit. “You’re a silly wanker, Carmichael,” he said.

“Only when you’re around, babes,” Stephen said happily, trooping onward to their seats.

The stadium wasn’t even three-quarters full, but Stephen didn’t care about that. It was the first time he’d been to his team’s home game with Frank, and he was going to enjoy every minute, and even Frank was grumbling right up until kick-off, he still enjoyed a good game enough to yell and boo along with the crowd.

Millwall weren’t on top form, but they still were his team, and when they scored their first goal to Wolves’ three, he screamed himself hoarse. By half-time, he was both pissed off with the team for being crap when his boyfriend was watching, and just happy that they were there together.

He flopped down onto the seat by Frankie, beaming at him. “Best present,” he declared.

Frank had one of those soft, silly looks on his face, and for a moment, Stephen thought he was going to kiss him in front of everyone. It would have been nice, but in some ways, Frank Grayson was still a bloke, and big showy displays of affection weren’t his thing.

“Ain’t bad,” he said, which was damning with faint praise.

Stephen swatted him on the leg. “Don’t talk crap,” he said. “They’re shit today. I could play better than that.”

Frank’s eyes glinted. “Yeah,” he said. “I remember. Your ball control ain’t half bad.”

Stephen snorted and smacked him on the leg again. “Frank Grayson! Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Just come down to keep you company,” Frank said virtuously, glancing up at the big screen. Stephen followed his look, then exclaimed in surprise. “Oh my god, babes! Don’t look now, but we’re stadium famous!” He leapt up and waved in the direction of the camera, the giant him on the screen waving enthusiastically.

He heard the clatter of Frank’s chair, and half-expected him to have bolted or ducked or something that wouldn’t mean he might end up in a cameo on Match of the Day.

But Frank wasn’t gone. 

Frank had undone his coat and taken it off and was standing there in a Millwall shirt. Stephen gaped at him, as if he’d shown up in a thong and fishnets. Frank was red in the face, but there was a determined look in his eye. 

His chair was folded down and he’d propped one knee on the seat, like he was kneeling, and that’s when Stephen saw the box in his hands. 

“Oh my god…” he whispered, pressing his hands to his mouth. 

Frank ducked his head, then looked up at him. People were whispering and it was surging into a roar as Frank held out the box, flipping the lid open to reveal the most gorgeous piece of bling Stephen had ever seen, and said with the care of the carefully memorised, “If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow.”

Stephen could feel tears on his cheeks, but he was smiling like an idiot. It was only their play, and their sport, and everything that had brought them together in one place. 

“Why wait til tomorrow?” he demanded, grabbing Frankie by the Millwall shirt and hauling him up into a kiss, and he almost died of joy right there and then, when Frankie kissed him back and brought up his hand to slip the ring onto Stephen’s finger.

There were some wankers yelling insults, but Stephen couldn’t give a crap, wrapped up in Frank’s arms and kissing him silly.

Frank finally drew back, flushed, and grinning like a tit. “That a yes?”

Stephen’s eyes were shining. “What do you think?”


End file.
